


Werewolves and Magic and Soulmates, Oh My

by HighQueen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Avengers goes off the rail after Winter Soldier, BAMF Stiles, Because of Reasons, Beta wants me to add:, But don't worry. It's platonic., Canon-Typical Violence, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Peter is a Little Shit, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Stilinski Has Powers, Teen Wolf goes off the rails post-Nogitsune, Timeline What Timeline, Uncomfortable Love-Rhombus, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighQueen/pseuds/HighQueen
Summary: It was supposed to be a normal op. Well, as normal as the Avengers could get. Bucky was back and after months of Steve and Sam persuading him to come in form the cold. And after even more months of being locked in the tower to be looked over by doctors of all kinds he was itching to fight HYDRA. So when they’d gotten the alarm that HYDRA was after an inhuman tool in California, everyone had quickly suited up. Minus Thor and Bruce, because it was hard to be inconspicuous with a god of Thunder and Big Green. They’d been expecting an artifact. Not… people?Soulmate AU that's getting a little carried away!





	1. Meet and Greet: Hero-Style

“What the hell are those things?” Bucky asked over comms. Hawkeye had been sent out first into the Beacon Hills Preserve for recon and when he’d called back about fighting between the natives and HYDRA, this isn’t what Captain America—or the rest of the Avengers—had been expecting.

It was supposed to be a normal op. Well, as normal as the Avengers could get. Bucky was back and after months of Steve and Sam persuading him to come in form the cold. And after even more months of being locked in the tower to be looked over by doctors of all kinds he was itching to fight Hydra. So when they’d gotten the alarm that HYDRA was after an inhuman tool in California, everyone had quickly suited up. Minus Thor and Bruce, because it was hard to be inconspicuous with a god of Thunder and Big Green. They’d been expecting an artifact. Not… people?

“More important question,” Iron Man cut in from the skies. “Who should we be cheering for? Because HYDRA are evil sons-of-bitches. But those wolf-men are looking kinda feral. Then again, wolf-men. Wolf-men are cool. I’m cheering for wolf-men.”

“Yeah. These guys are really great when they’re not fighting for their lives while superheroes just gawp. They’re all my bros.” A stranger spoke up, seemingly responding to Iron Man, who he shouldn’t be able to hear without a comm. The kid came out from the shadows nonchalantly while everyone whipped around and raised their weapons. Even Black Widow was surprised.

The kid—God, he couldn’t be more than eighteen—gave a grin. His hands were in the air, and his whole demeanor screamed nonthreatening even as a baseball bat remained propped behind his head at the crook of an elbow. He made eye contact with Black Widow, rightly realizing she’d be the biggest threat. “Easy now. Just wanted to draw your focus away from the fight if you’re not planning on participating anyways. I’d much prefer my friends unperforated.” He spoke like there wasn’t a fight waging less than 200 yards away with HYDRA agents more than willing to spill innocent blood.

A roar of pain made Captain America, Bucky (never the Winter Soldier, not anymore), and Hawkeye shift their focus back to the fighting. “Well, never mind. Lost cause. I’m guessing you’re not going to let the poor civilian join in the fight. So, mind telling me which one got shot?”

“How do you tell them apart?” Iron Man asked. Because he was always up for a game of what-the-actual-fuck if the kid was.

“The eyes. The color of their eyes.”

“Blue.” Iron Man responded quickly. “Headed your way.”

The kid sighed with his whole body, arms and bat dropping to his side in exasperation. “Dammit, Peter.”

The man, Peter, just continued to make his way carefully to the group, ignoring the Avengers in his need to get to the boy. His face shifted back to human and his eyes stopped glowing unnaturally, but it was drawn tight and he looked like he was having trouble breathing. “Sorry, darling. I didn’t realize we would have an audience. My performance will be better in the future.”

The boy laughed incredulously before stalking to him and asking, “Is the bullet still inside? Was it poisoned?”

“Nope,” Peter responded. As he popped his ‘p’, blood sprayed from his lips. “Mm. Guess it was a hollow-point though. Glad it just got my guts. Maybe a lung.”

More expletives flew from the kid’s lips. Bucky and Steve exchanged concerned looks. They’d seen men shot to smithereens that thought they were ok until the adrenalin died off. And they’d seen the advances in medical science, but internal injuries didn’t seem like something to be callous about. But despite the cussing, Peter and the kid didn’t sound too concerned. And since when did kids cuss so much?

The kid knocked Peter to lay flat on the ground and without hesitation straddled his hips while ranting at the man the entire time. “Where, Peter? Where is the fucking bullet now? I need to know where to cut. Stupid bastard. Can’t even fight a non-supernatural enemy without getting yourself into trouble. This is why we don’t participate in this shit anymore. Fucking Malia. Fucking Nemeton.”

Peter just grunted and took the kid’s face with one hand. “Stiles. Calm down. It’s just a hollow point. My insides are already unscrambling.” He took the kid’s—Stiles’?—other hand and placed it over his right pectoral, close to the shoulder. “Here. I think its here.”

The Black Widow kneeled down to inspect the wound in Peter’s left side. Where the bullet had entered. What she saw made her frown, but without hesitation she gave Stiles one of her blades. “It’s clean.”

Stiles looked up at her and gave her a distracted smile before he reached into his pockets for gloves. “Thanks.” And then he turned his attention back to Peter while he continued to babble. “Boy scouts say every male my age should be carrying around a condom in my wallet. Instead, ‘always prepared’ for me means I’ve got gloves for sterile wood-side surgery.” Tony and Barton laughed under their breaths.

Stiles ripped open Peter’s shirt before looking into Peter’s eyes. “You know the drill. Grin and bear it, you bastard.” And Stiles made a large cut, not skillful but not completely amateur, either, before sticking his fingers in the wound and wiggling around. Peter grunted but didn’t bother screaming. Instead, he roved his eyes around the group watching him. “Oh, look. Your favorite superheroes. Come to save the day, I assume?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Probably after the fucking Nementon before that lot gets it. Have fun. The stupid stump brings nothing but misery.” Stiles pressed his non-bloody hand more firmly on Peter’s shoulder. “Be still, dammit.” And after another moment. “Got it.” He raised the bullet between two bloody fingers and took to his feet fluidly, still eyeing the bullet intently. “This one’s got a pretty mushroom to it. Wanna keep it for the collection?”

Peter laughed and wiped his wound with his tattered shirt while he sat up and propped an arm on his knee. Before their eyes, the wound Stiles had cut disappears. “Pocket it. I’ll have a look later. How’s the rest of the pack fairing?”

Stiles just shrugged. “Don’t think anyone else has gotten shot.”

“They haven’t,” Iron Man cut in. “Six HYDRA agents down. Four. Well, three to go. Shit. They saw our weird civilians. Incoming.”

“Iron Man called me weird. I’m offended,” Stiles joked to Peter as he picked up his bat from the floor, seemingly ignorant of the HYDRA agents coming up behind him fast. They seemed to be out of bullets. Or maybe they realized they didn’t work.

“Disgusting monster!” One of them yelled and propelled himself forward. But the other two are tackled from behind by the group? Pack?

Stiles just whipped around, his face one of polite interest and only his hands gripped tightly around his bat belaying his anger. “Monster, huh?” He asked conversationally, which throws the man off-target.

Before the man can catch his footing, Stiles continued with a full-bodied shrug. “Guess you could say that. Boo!” He shouted at the same moment he swung his bat, entire body following though as he caught the man in the side. There was a ‘crack’—probably the man’s spine if the complete collapse was any indication. But he was still alive.

Stiles crouched down among the speechless superheroes to look the unfortunate HYDRA agent in the eye, weight balancing on his bat. “Something everyone forgets about monsters. They look like you and me. Maybe that’s because we both are, yeah? So I just helped you off your ideological high-horse. Sit tight.” Stiles gave the man’s face a light, companionable slap.

He stood at the same time the other group converged, shifting back to human and joking amongst themselves. Like they hadn’t just taken out a HYDRA cell without any discernable weapons. A couple of women and a handful of men. Most of them looked to be five to ten years older than Stiles.

“Is everyone okay?” Steve stepped up and asked, still feeling guilty that his team hadn’t stepped in to try and help. But it’s not like they see a group able to handle HYDRA every day. Especially not one as… odd.

But there was no reaction to his presence. And he wasn’t being boastful when he said that there was always a reaction. “Umm…” He stepped a little closer.

“Everyone okay?” Stiles echoed. “No one else stupid enough to get shot?” Peter snorted, but he gave a little smirk in Captain America’s direction. So he could still see him, at least. “Malia?” Stiles asked a teenage girl with long wavy hair in particular, who strode towards him to give him a weird head-butt/ cheek-rub.

The group gave out an easy round of negatives. “Yeah. They were pretty lousy hunters, anyways. Didn’t even bring wolfbane. Guess we didn’t need to call you out anyways. Sorry, Stiles.” A Latino man with a crooked jaw gave a goofy grin.

Stiles just shrugged. “You didn’t know what you might be getting into. Better safe than sorry. That’s part of being a good Alpha, Scottie.” He stepped up and gave his hand for a cross-body hug.

“Hey, wasn’t there another one?” A blonde guy asked.

The paralyzed man groaned, but Stiles made a show of looking around. “Nah. You got them all. Good job. And hey, maybe give me a heads-up before you involve Malia next time?”

“Yeah,” Scott nodded absent-mindedly and took out his cell phone. “Next time.” After checking the time, he gave a moan. “Dude. I’ve got an exam in 6 hours.”

While this conversation was going on, the Black Widow has stepped towards the group, waiting to see if anyone gave a reaction. When that didn’t happen, she stepped even closer and waved in front of a particularly grumpy-looking man’s face. Nothing.

Stiles gave Scott a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about them. Let me handle clean-up. Just get Malia home.”

The Malia girl tried to complain, but Stiles just lifted a hand to stop her before she began. “She has school in the morning. And homework to finish before bed.”

“Okay. Just. Escort them out of the territory, I guess.” But Scott was clearly not paying attention anymore even as Stiles herded the group around the Avengers like they were a particularly large tree trunk.

“Yeah. Yeah. Walk them to the borders and give them a strong talking-to. Never come back. This is McCall property. Yada-yada.” Stiles shooed and shooed until he believed they were far enough away. That left the Avengers, Stiles, Peter, and the unconscious (and one paralyzed) HYDRA agents in the clearing. Peter was busy going through the agents’ things while Black Widow and Hawkeye watched. Tony landed somewhere nearby.

With a tap of his bat to the side of a shoe, Stiles looked back up at Captain America. “So, you probably have questions. The first answer is werewolves. The second is magic.”

And suddenly all the air was pushed from Steve’s lungs. It’s like his asthma was back. Because he thought he was prepared for this when he woke up from the ice and found another soul-mark on his torso close to Bucky’s dark (Not dead. Thank god. Not dead.) “Do you have a death-wish punk?”. When he’d gotten used to where and when he was, he thought maybe the strange comment was over a video game or movie. But nothing prepared him for the mole-spotted golden-eyed most-probably-psychopathic teenager in front of him.

As Stiles watched him with some amusement, he turned to Bucky. “Man, did I just make a superhero speechless? I’m putting that on my resume.”

Bucky stepped forward, knocking into Steve as he did so. “Werewolves and magic and soulmates weren’t really something we thought we’d run into today, kid.”

Stiles’ eyes went wide, and his mouth gaped. Bucky wished he could think it was unappealing. But instead he had thoughts of it gaping around something besides air. Stiles was too busy looking back and forth between a speechless Steve and a smirking Bucky.

After a few more stunned seconds, Steve cleared his throat to speak up. “It’s not an unpleasant surprise. Just very… unexpected.”

Stiles’ stunned expression recedes when the agent at his feet started cussing, jerking his head back and forth. Stiles’ head tilted towards the man, face expressionless except for a mild curiosity. “It’s probably best if we postpone this topic for now.” His eyes cut up first to Steve, then Bucky. When both of them were unsure how to continue, Stiles gave himself a decisive nod and continued. “Was there anything in particular you needed to know from these men?” Stiles twitched the bat in his hand.

“We’ll take them back to the quintjet for secure transport and debriefing.” Captain America took a step forward, perhaps to pick the man up.

But Stiles laughed. It lit up his eyes and elongated his throat. “That’s a pretty way to say interrogation and imprisonment. But, no. You’re not taking them anywhere.”

Captain America gave Stiles the full brunt of his not-happy pursed lips. “Sorry if it’s unpleasant but it’s necessary. We have to know what they’re after and they’re dangerous men.”

“Oh, the stories are true. That’s so cute,” Stiles nearly cooed. His eyes went soft. “Mr. Soldier, doing what’s necessary. But you misunderstood me. Now, I’m not going to judge if killing in cold blood squicks you out. That’s probably a good trait to have. But they’re not leaving the Preserve alive. So ask your questions and leave them to us, okay?”

The agent started cussing more, louder. Sobbing, too. Stiles just knocked a foot against him. “Quiet, the adults are talking.”

“You said you were going to escort them to the border.” Bucky grabbed hold of Steve’s shoulders before he can say something that might upset their soulmate. He knew Steve could live with a stick up his ass since morals practically radiated out of his pours. It could make a less-morally driven man angry.

Stiles just shrugged. “I lied. I do that a lot.” And before Steve and Bucky could get their scrambled minds working again, Peter came up from behind Stiles. He was done looking through the unconscious men’s pockets and gear.

“They didn’t know about us, darling. Didn’t even know what they were looking for. Just that some books they got their hands on said ‘an awesome power’ protected the ‘woods of California’. Guess they made some desperate leaps right into our laps.”

Stiles didn’t bother to look back, just leaned until he was pressed against Peter’s front. “Damn Nemeton strikes again. It’s too late for this shit.” He tipped his head back to drop it on Peter’s shoulder and took a few deep breaths with his eyes closed. Peter’s hands just hover around Stiles’ loose wrists. The soldiers are stunned by the intimacy. Like they’ve been forgotten. Like they aren’t this boys soulmates and Peter isn’t 20 years his senior.

“Okay. So they can’t tell us anything we don’t already know.” He opened his eyes and pushed away from Peter.

It wasn’t until the cussing suddenly stops that what happened registered to the two confused soldiers. When Stiles had pushed away from Peter, he’d simultaneously drawn a pistol from the small of his back and shot the paralyzed agent. But the gunshot had been completely silent. Nothing.

“What. The. Hell.” Tony demanded, face plate gone as he stomped closer to the group. Widow and Hawkeye are suddenly by them too.

Stiles actually had the audacity to look confused. “I told you. They’re not leaving here alive. They don’t know about what they’re looking for, but unfortunately for them, they know what’s here now. And they’re not leaving with that information. Consider my willingness to share the information with you as a professional and personal courtesy.”

Tony raised one of his hands, repulsor powering up. “Was that a threat?”

Stiles threw up his hands and rolled his eyes in exasperation, completely ignoring the fact that Iron Man was pointing a weapon in his direction. Or that he still had a gun and a bat in his hands. Peter didn’t throw himself in front of Stiles, but the tense muscles and glaring made it apparent he was thinking about it.

“Did you see those kids?” Stiles spat while he flung his bat-held hand in the direction the others went. “Those kids are my responsibility. Mine to protect. And you saw what they can protect themselves from. What do you think they might have faced for them to walk away from ten armed agents thinking about tests in the morning? For you, this is a retrieval. Capturing the enemy is just another part of a successful mission that will be broadcast all across the world. But for us? For us it’s a war. One we wage every fucking day in secrecy, literally in our back yards.

“Imagine what happens if they escape and can tell their superiors about what they witnessed tonight? Hell, what if they tell the wrong men while they’re in the custody of some thrice-damned secret government? What happens when they talk about the scary, inhuman monsters they saw in the woods of California that can magically turn back into humans? What happens when they can spread their fear and their hate of beings they don’t even understand? And then ask yourself: what happens to things humans don’t understand, Mr. Stark?”

Tony lowered his hand. But Stiles continued. “Do you think others will stay away? Let these kids live in as much peace as is afforded to them? Or are you already thinking about what kind of experiments you can run? What they could do in the military? For science! For safety!” Stiles chanted the words out with mock cheerfulness before spitting out with venom, “because the world isn’t safe until humans know everything—unless they slap a suit on it and call it a hero.”

“This,” he pointed with the muzzle of his gun to the man dead at his feet. “This isn’t savagery. This is survival. This is protecting those that I love. And I refused to be threatened or guilt-tripped by men who would have made the same god-damned call but are able to call it heroism because their war can be safely publicized.”

He dropped his bat to pinch the bridge of his nose, breath heavy. “I respect what you do. I can understand your quest for knowledge in the face of something you cannot comprehend. But this is my home, and I am fucking tired of being woken at 2 in the morning by my friends while they are fighting for their lives. So this is me asking you to leave the borders of the preserve. Never tell anyone what you saw. Never come back. There is nothing here that can be used for world domination anymore. Announce to your superiors that nothing was here and a battle never took place with people young enough to be your children. Thank you for saving the day, but the Beacon Hills Pack has it covered.” He waved that empty hand and turned around to go to the unconscious men.

Only to be yanked back by a super strength hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo.... any good? Worth continuing?  
> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger. I've got a chapter 3 sort-of, but not how to get there. Yet. But I will! Promise!  
> I don't have a beta, but I wouldn't mind someone pointing out mistakes for me to fix!
> 
> This idea just came from the blue and won't leave me alone. A soul mated Bucky and Steve finding out their third is a PTSD riddled survivor that can help both of them get into the 21st century but also relate to everything they've been through. Any more than that will be giving away spoilers. I'm trying really hard not to make Stiles super bad ass. Like, he's such a good character because hes pretty much human and has to work what hes given so I don't want to give him ALL the powers or anything. But I think I solidly failed with that. *Shrug* You win some and lose some.


	2. A Conversation About Conversations That Need to Happen Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry there isn't more! But here, have a chapter. I'll have more next week I promise!

“Jesus shit!” Stiles shouted as his arm was wrenched. At the same moment Peter lunged at Steve’s arm, squeezing the wrist tight until Steve had to let go.

With a glare, Stiles whirled back to the super soldiers, fist raised and finger pointed, gun in the other hand held steadily towards the ground. Because he was pissed, but not aim-a-gun-at-an-American-icon pissed. “I’m magical not invincible, asshat!” He scolded. “And I’m squishy enough to bruise like a peach! What’s your problem?!”

Steve raised his hands in the universal gesture of ‘sorry, I fucked up, please spare me’. He at least had the decency to look contrite and apologized with, “I forget I can do that, sometimes, when I’m upset.” He stopped a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s just. You’re acting like we should just walk away. But shouldn’t we… Well, we’re soulmates, aren’t we?”

Everyone else stiffened. Guess they hadn’t heard the conversation earlier. The one before Stiles’ impromptu rant. Peter quickly stepped backwards, hovering behind Stiles’ shoulder once again. He didn’t say anything sarcastic for once, but the little shit couldn’t help but put a gentle hand on Stiles shoulder and run it down his arm. It was only to take the pistol out of Stiles’ grip, of course. And to scent-mark. Again. Because he could be a possessive fucker.

Stiles stopped looking so murderous and instead his eyes turned desperate. He made a throat scream that sounded something like “mmhhrree” before throwing his hands out. “What do you want from me?! If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda swamped what with the murders I have planned. And earlier, when I said later, I meant later than right now!” Here he emphasized his point with synchronized karate chops through the air in front of himself. “Why can’t you just walk away? Any sane person would see all of this,” he swings his hand around his body, “and walk away.”

There was a tense silence. Natasha seemed to decide the situation didn’t call for her skills and walked back to the unconscious men. Probably to check their restraints. It seemed as if Steve was about to speak again, but then Stark threw up a gauntlet like a child on the first day of grade school.

“Soooo, question. I get the not-letting-them-leave-with-information and the whole trust-heroes-with-your-secret, especially after that epic speech. Seriously, I’d hire you to write mine any day. However, I don’t get why you have to kill them? I mean, can’t you just,” he wiggles his fingers, “magic them to forget?”

“I can’t do magic!” Stiles spits out. Then groans. “Well, I can. But I can’t do much magic. I can’t do that kind of magic. And believe me, I know how bad killing like this is for my karma. But the only people I know who can fuck with memories like this…” He trailed off before turning to look at Peter. “Are Alphas.”

“Scott’s a boy scout. He wouldn’t do it, even if it were to save his pack.” Peter scoffed.

“Wait, it can actually be done?” Stark seemed surprised. “Magically, I mean. Without a chair and all the pain and … all the things I’m not supposed to mention because I need to be sensitive to the triggers of those around me?” His tone went from excited to chastened as more of the Avengers team stared at him in rebuke. Except for Bucky, who continued to stare a little too hard at Stiles.

Stiles had continued talking over Stark as if he didn’t care what was being said. “I wasn’t thinking Scott. I was thinking of an Alpha more sensible. Someone with… vision.”

Peter chuckled, then seemed to realize Stiles wasn’t joking. “Sweetheart, you can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a Molotov cocktail. Peter, we’ve never faced governments before. What are the chances that these dicks won’t be missed? Someone’s going to be looking. Someone has been looking!” Stiles motioned to the Avengers around him.

“Molotov cocktail?” Stark echoes in confusion. At the same time Barton said, “Slim to none”. And Steve replied, “HYDRA isn’t known for letting things go. If these guys just go missing, you can guarantee more will show up.”

“HYDRA?!” Stiles squeaked. “As in Nazi HYDRA?” At that he gave a sardonic salute with the wrong hand. “As in won’t-fucking-quit-because-we’ve-got-all-the-heads HYDRA?” He looked to Bucky and Steve for confirmation. Steve and Bucky just nodded in unison, Bucky with a little twitch of his lips because in one sentence their soulmate had pretty much summed up their lives.

Stiles gave a “gaahh” in frustration and scrubbed both hands through his hair before looking around himself at the other Avengers. “Okay. I’m practical, not psychopathic. New Plan. Welcome to Beacon Hills. You’re invited to stay the weekend with your prisoners while we come to an agreement. Here’s the outline in broad strokes: We burn this body.” He points at the hated departed. “The prisoners stay in my dungeon—I mean, basement—and you all get guest beds. A friend of mine comes and wipes their minds of anything that can endanger this town. Then you get your wish of captives to question about anything expect the past 5 hours and I get my wish to have no relevant information in their putrid little heads. No one else dies today. And no shadowy governments? organizations? come to snoop on my friends. Win-win all around.” He paused for a second, focusing back onto the lifeless body. “Except for that bastard, I guess.”

“Really? You’re just going to change your mind about killing 9 unarmed prisoners after you paralyzed and shot another?” Barton asks. Overly incredulously if you asked Stiles.

“It’s not like he would have survived without medical intervention.” Peter pointed out reasonably before he started gathering firewood. Like it answered everything.

Stark clanged his gauntlets together. “Sooo. Everyone on the same page? No blood baths? Something, something, cooler heads prevail?”

Stiles turned his attention back Steve and Bucky (his soulmates because today couldn’t get any more demented). “Is that okay?” He hated that he sounded so unsure. Hated that he shifted his feet as if he needed their permission. He was a grown ass man that didn’t need no ‘mate.

Barton wandered off and muttered something about getting transport and Stark went with him, shedding the suit as he walked.

“What are you going to do with them?” Bucky asked. And because Stiles kept up with the media like any person his age, he knew what Bucky was actually asking.

Stiles took a few steps towards Bucky and looked him in the eyes. “We’re going to erase everything about Beacon Hills from their minds. And it’s probably going to hurt because Deucalion doesn’t care about bedside manner. But then they’re going to forget, so it won’t matter to them. And it certainly won’t matter to me. Because these assholes deserve it. And if you wanted to ask them whether they’d want their life or be missing a few hours, you can guaran-damn-tee what they would chose because the bastards have never had their minds played with, have they? We can talk about the how and the what to do later. But for now, let’s continue this discussion—” he glanced to Steve, “– all discussions for when I’m not running on Adderall and misplaced guilt, okay?”

His eyes cut to the corpse. Again. Natasha was walking up and noticed. “Did you mean to paralyze him?” She asked.

Stiles gave a grating laugh. “Nope. Fucking lucky hit. I’m just a human with a baseball bat. Most of the time. But the douchecanoe wouldn’t have survived anyways. Not without medical attention.” He repeated Peter’s words before he walked away and stooped down to get his baseball bat from where it had dropped. When he stood up again, they could see the weariness in his posture.

Bucky carefully put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He could tell the guy was trying, just like he had to every day. Dozens of decisions culminating into a personality he hoped others could relate to. Look up to, even. At least, he saw it that way on his good days. So when Stiles looked up a little less frustrated, Peter’s name on his lips before he realized who the hand belonged to, Bucky made the decision not to react.

It was obvious there was something going on between the two. It was also obvious Stiles expected his soulmates to leave him without a single proper conversation. And, yeah, that stung. But Bucky wouldn’t leave until he at least understood the young man’s motivations. And he’d make sure Steve wouldn’t either. But he did step away when Peter chose that moment to come back with an armful of timber that he just dropped on the body. “I don’t like this.” He told Stiles under his breath as he brushed passed the kid, not realizing Bucky and Steve were close enough to hear.

“Your umbrage is noted. Unfortunately for you, this pack isn’t a democracy.” Stiles snarked.

“Cheeky thing,” Peter flirted back. “Luckily, I find it refreshing when you step outside of the box.” He took hold of Stiles’ wrist for a moment and becomes more serious. “Always have. What do you need me to do?”

“Can you make the call to Deuc? Let me finish up here and I’ll meet you back at the jeep.”

Peter let go of Stiles and walked away in the same direction those kids had gone not even an hour ago.

Bucky noticed how Stiles noticed that Natasha followed him. And then the boy walked around the log-crushed body. Bucky and Steve watched in confused silence as wisps of dirt seemed to come out of Stiles’ hand and make a complete oval in the wake of his steps. As soon as it was closed, Stiles seemed to throw more of that stuff on the body before he reached into his pocket and brought out matches, which he struck and threw. The ignition was immediate, logs and body both being eaten by blue flames. But even though they were close to the flames, they didn’t feel the heat. Didn’t smell it, either. For which they were grateful.

Stiles looked over at them and winked, face illuminated by the bizarre flames. “Pixie dust. Never leave home without it, kiddos.” He then looked over their shoulders. “Looks like your hawk-guy found the trucks.”

Barton was driving a hummer up into the clearing, close enough to the group of agents to start loading them. Stark was probably disabling whatever tracking devices were in the other before he headed over as well. “He’d probably appreciate the help of a couple of super soldiers. I know which way you guys will have to drive to get out. It’s a dirt path that passes by an abandoned house before turning into gravel. That’s where my jeep is parked. Load everyone up and you can follow me home from there. Natasha can hitch a ride with us.”

“What about this?” Steve asked, pointing to the fire.

“It’s a controlled burn, trust me. And no one else can see it. It’ll burn until everything in the circle is ash. By next week, anyone in this part of the preserve will think some assholes set up an illegal bonfire.” And then he just walked off. Bucky was starting to think that would be a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, notice how Stiles isn’t as all-powerful. He’s not super strong and the paralyzing was an accident he rolled with like a boss. (And, yes, you can actually paralyze someone like this by accident as an average human. Google says so.) Also, it really always bugged me that “Magic fixes everything”. So here, Stiles can only use his magic specifically in a way that I haven’t figure out to tell the reader yet. I’m trying not to just info-dump. So, when Bucky/Steve knows, the reader will know. Please don’t hate me.
> 
> God, you guys. I say this from the heart: writing for an audience is nerve-wracking and takes too damn long! I probably wrote twice this word count, but then didn’t like where the story was headed so I turned around and deleted about ½ that, then mixed things around and wrote some more. And it’s still not even 2,000 words! That’s like, 3 min for a reader but it took me 3 hours! And I feel like this is Stiles’ fault because he wouldn’t shut up and he takes my fingers and tells me to type out ridiculous tirades! [*synchronized choppy motions*](https://giphy.com/gifs/xTka001jIEQnq8oG4w/html5). No, but seriously, I have a document full of things Stiles might say that just didn’t fit the situation.
> 
> Such as this beauty if he had decided to kill all the HYDRA agents: “Because I’m currently running on Adderall and the death of my enemies. Of which there needs to be 9 more before sunrise.”  
> I swear I’m not crazy. Just sleep deprived.


	3. Way to Go, Steve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shows off his home. Steve and Bucky are reminded yet again that their soulmate is a little different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry!!  
> Good News (for me): I had a marvelous job opportunity fall in my lap last month! *^.^* That's why I've been absent.  
> Good News (for you guys): It's alive!! I WILL continue to update. And I DO have a tentative plan.  
> Bad News (for everyone): The updates aren't going to be neat and regular until I've gotten better at juggling. And I'm not %100 happy with this chapter. But it's here. So :(.

“Home sweet home,” Stiles announced with a rattle of his ridiculously-full key-ring as he unlocked the door of a modest two-story. One of the Hummers was backed into the driveway, and Peter opened the garage door for Barton to drive it inside. It had most of the new prisoners. Natasha was watching the rest in the other. Everyone else came in through the front door with Stiles. 

He flipped on the light switch into the living room. Only for Malia to spring her head up from the couch like a demented jack-in-the-box. “Welcome home!” Stark jumped, Steve and Bucky tried to act like they hadn’t almost drawn their weapons. And Stiles just sighed. 

“I told you to go to bed, Mal.”

“Woah. Aren’t those the guys on your wall?” Malia talked over him. “Why are they here?”

Stiles failed at trying not to blush and covered it up by waving his arms around. “Malia, soulmates. Soulmates, Malia. Oh, and Tony Stark.”

Stark snorted but Malia just tilted her head. “Huh. Okay.” She accepted readily. “Were you hiding things from me again? Why are the thugs still alive? They shot Peter, you know. Normally you kill people like that.” 

“How did she—”

“Enhanced hearing,” Stiles answers Stark’s question before he can finish it. “Yes, because someone decided to run around in the woods instead of being responsible and coming home to do their homework. Because they wanted live prisoners. Or, if that’s too complicated for you, because I can. They’re all staying the weekend. Go to bed.”

“Which bed?” Malia asked. Because if everyone was staying, chances were she wasn’t going to keep her room, which had once been the guest room. 

“Mine. And I swear to god if you aren’t in that bed when I come upstairs, you’re grounded from the woods for a week. And I’m making you read the Harry Potter series.” 

“Fine.” Malia flounced up the stairs. When she got to the top she called down. “Hey, have you told Lydia?”

“Bed!” Was Stiles’ only response before he turned to Stark and the soldiers. “Accommodations aren’t going to be 5 stars or anything but I’ve got three spare mattresses and a blow-up if you want to mess with it. I figured you could work something out.”

“Sounds great,” Bucky spoke up at the same time Steve asked. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead. Legally, this is my house and I live alone. Peter and Malia crash here off and on.” Stark and Bucky winced at Stiles’ unemotional answer. Steve couldn’t stop stepping on the landmines of this kid’s life. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Steve responded. It even sounded genuine and not-at-all by rote. Knowing Steve, it was. 

“Shit happens. And in this town, it happens a lot. But thanks.” Stiles shrugged, his gaze fixed on one of the bookshelves. 

Before they could figure out a safe way to break the silence, Peter walked through the garage door. He had a few hooded-but-awake prisoners that he dragged along on ropes. His raised eyebrow conveyed something along the lines of ‘thanks, really, you’ve been so helpful’. It made Bucky and Steve jump into action. They headed towards the garage door. Meanwhile, Tony just followed Peter curiously to what appeared to be a closet door and instead turned out to be the basement. 

“Holy shit. You weren’t joking about the dungeon were you, kid?” He let out a low, impressed whistle. 

“I try.” Stiles might have preened. 

Once, the basement could have been decorated to be hospitable. But now there was nothing to hide the concrete walls and steps or lack of windows. The lighting installed in the ceiling was industrial and iron-caged. The video camera, too. The door itself swung across the entire step (giving no space to hid behind) and the hinges were external. There wasn’t even an interior door handle. And although it looked like any flimsy closet door from the outside, the interior side proved it was solid. And there were hoops to hold chained prisoners, strong enough to hold a beta and soaked in mountain ash just in case. But there were only five spaced around the room. Stiles hadn’t anticipated ever needing more than five. An oversight, really. All-in-all, the only thing that could be moved around was a stainless-steel bucket (sans handle, just in case). 

In an exhausted blur, Stiles got his prisoners, then the Avengers settled in. Peter gave him a little shove towards the stairs, and Stiles tripped up them and made a bee-line to his bedroom. He stripped himself of his top and pants without fanfare and dragged himself onto his side of the bed. Malia was sleeping on the side closest to the wall.

Steve and Bucky watched him ascend, both had their heads cocked in the same manner, as if they were still questioning everything that had happened. “Is he always like this?” Steve asked Peter after a moment. 

Peter just raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, like he was out there?” Steve shifted his position to point back towards the front door with his entire hand. “He seemed to be so sure of himself. And then he gets here and he seems so tired.” He dropped the hand by his side, squeezing Bucky’s metal forearm for a moment. He doesn’t say ‘how can the person tripping up the stairs be the same boy who shouted at Captain America?’. But Peter is smart enough to hear the question anyways.

“Stiles has always been hard to define away. It’s what I’ve always adored about him.” Peter gave a wolfish grin before it mellowed into something almost understanding. “But I suggest withholding any judgements until he’s had time to process.” His eyes cut to Bucky with the same soft smile, reminding them both about how patient Steve had been those first few months. “You seem to be really good at that. Goodnight, soldiers. I’ll take first watch.”

Peter sat down at the kitchen table. Steve thought he might be grading papers since he was writing on papers with red pen. Natasha sat next to him, clearly deciding someone from the Avengers needed to stay up as well. 

Bucky began to climb the steps, and Steve followed. The bedroom Stiles had pointed out previously was at the end of the hallway. When they open the door it was obviously the master. It also smelled of disuse, dust coated everything, including the photo frame that had been placed face-down on the dresser. But Stiles had pointed out where to find clean sheets, and the soldiers went about making their bed. And they tried not to think about why a teenager would keep a master bedroom so empty. 

~~

They woke and did their morning routine (sans anything too domestic, hyperaware that this was not their home. And werewolves.) in the bathroom of the strange house they had found themselves in. When they made it to the kitchen, Peter and Natasha were still at the table, although Peter had a laptop in front of him. He gave them a raised brow.

“I didn’t expect you to wake so early.”

Bucky shrugged, and then padded on bare feet to the coffee maker. That was one of the things he loved about the 21st century. Coffee makers. Coffee makers everywhere. And he’d figured out how to use Stark’s, so this one shouldn’t be too complicated. Steve was the one to reply after checking the clocks. It was only 6am and they hadn’t headed upstairs until 2am. “Super serum. We don’t need to sleep nearly as much. But Bucky is pretty non-verbal before his first coffee anyways.” 

Peter just inclined his head and twisted his laptop before rising, showing video footage of the prisoners tied up in a row across 2 walls. “I wish I could claim the same. I’ll head to bed now. Natasha, you’re welcome to the bedroom they’ve vacated.” Natasha shifted on her chair and looked at Steve. At his nod, she followed Peter upstairs, barely stopping even when Peter stepped through the door Stiles had said was his bedroom. She didn’t have to glace downstairs to feel Steve’s radiating displeasure. 

“How could they just—,” Steve was working himself up to a rant while Bucky glared the coffee maker into submission. He gave Steve a glace, and Steve suddenly deflated. He walked towards Bucky and placed his forehead on his shoulder. “I don’t understand.” 

Bucky shrugged again, careful not to dislodge the blond head. “We don’t gotta understand. We just gotta be here. I’m sure the kid will explain it all. He didn’t seem shy to tell us where to stick it.”

Steve gave a cross between a chuckle and a groan. “A kid. Jesus Christ, what do we got in common with a kid?”

“Warzones, apparently. And brainwashing. I think.” Steve’s head cut up quickly to look Bucky in the eyes. Bucky looked away. “Just something he said, is all. Sounded like he knew what it was like. Besides, it’s not what we got in common, it’s how we fit. And we haven’t even known him for 6 hours yet.”

“You’re right,” Steve sighs before sitting down at the table to watch the dungeon (how crazy was that, a civilian having their own dungeon?). 

Bucky snorted as the coffee maker gave its last gurgle. “I’m always right, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve responded out of habit, but the conversation was over. Steve continued to watch the screen and Bucky sat next to him to start in on his cup of coffee. There wasn’t much more to be said that wasn’t speculation or the fears they’d already expressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Deucalion next chapter! And more will be explained. And I'm sorry again for teeny tiny chapters but its been so long since I've written like this that I am sooo out of practice.


	4. Good Morning Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where that conversation almost happens. Sort of.

Stiles came tumbling down the stairs around 8am. He looked as if he’d just woken up, hair mused, different jeans from last night. White t-shirt on under a long-sleeved plaid shirt that was hanging off one arm. Stiles was too busy scratching at the back of his neck to put the other sleeve on correctly.

As he entered the kitchen, his eyes zeroed in on the papers Peter had been grading the night before. He lifted them up with a small smile while he opened a drawer for a spoon and the fridge for a yogurt. All of this spoke of routine. Steve’s and Bucky’s eyes traveled his form as he walked around, uncaring or unaware of his audience. It lasted until Steve noticed the bruise forming around Stiles’ uncovered arm. It looked like it would be a perfect match to Steve’s hand.

Steve gave an upset grunt at the sight. Stiles hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he bruised easily.

Stiles heard the noise and was quick to turn around papers and spoon in one hand, yogurt in the other. He sat the papers down nervously, clearing his throat.

“Umm… hi?” He watched them warily, shrugging into the other sleeve of his shirt while he ripped open the yogurt top with his teeth.

“Did I do that?” Steve waved a hand sharply at the now-hidden bruise.

Stiles looked confused for a moment, then realization flashed in his eyes. But all he did was shrug. “I bruise easy. So it could be from anything. Doesn’t matter. Good morning to you too, btw.”

The soldiers didn’t understand the abbreviation, but could recognize it as modern slang.

“Mornin’,” Bucky drawled, accent all Brooklyn. “I made some coffee.”

“That’s great?” It was obvious Stiles didn’t know how to respond. “But I don’t drink coffee. Caffeine makes me tired.” He turned around and opened a cabinet and brought a pill container out, opened that, then threw a pill into his yogurt before taking a spoonful and swallowing. He swung the spoon around while he talked. “ADHD. Some people don’t have to take meds for it once they hit their twenties, but I’ve never been that lucky.”

“You’re sick?” Bucky asked at the same time Steve asked, “You’re in your twenties?”

Stiles hummed. “That’s right. You guys didn’t have a good diagnostic for it back in the forties. Called it a brain dysfunction.” He snorted. “Google it later if you want, I’m not in the mood to explain it completely. But basically, my brain works differently that lots of peoples. I can’t focus, or I focus too much. I get fidgety or I can’t stop talking.” Stiles shrugged, “Kids have it a lot, but most people grow out of it. Except I won’t. I think I’m just twenty-six?” He does the math in his head before nodding and taking another spoonful of yogurt. “Yeah, twenty-six.”

“But you’re fine, right?” Bucky asked with a little panic. “It’s not like Stevie’s asthma or anything, right?”

Stiles’ eyes went a little soft while he licked at his spoon. “ADHD is as common as Asthma. We have medications to deal with both. And neither are life-threatening in America anymore. Well, ADHD wasn’t really life-threatening ever unless someone got unfocused and fell of a horse or something.” Stiles waved his spoon around. “Not the point. Point is, I have to take Adderall and don’t take caffeine unless I need to calm down. So, I’m going to pass on the coffee.”

“You don’t look twenty-six,” Steve stated after there’s been a moment of silence in which they’d just watched each other while Stiles finished off his yogurt.

Stiles shifted from foot to foot, muttering, “Might as well throw it all out there. Why not, they already think I’m crazy.” He turned around to throw his yogurt cup away. “I get that a lot.” He widened his stance and braced himself on his hands on the counter, still faced away from them. “One of the side effects of getting possessed by a fox demon. Who knew?”

Steve made a strangled noise in his throat and went to stand before Bucky kept him down with his metal hand on Steve’s arm. “Are you okay otherwise?” Bucky asked slowly.

“Do you mean am I a danger because I got possessed by a demon nearly a decade ago?” Stiles gave a bitter bark and turned around to lean against the counter. “I don’t really know anymore. If it makes you feel better, I kicked him out of my head. Peter helped. But I also absorbed his power, and his memories. So he’s kinda still kicking around up there sometimes.” He made a face. “Most of the time. It’s hard being sixteen and twenty-six and hundreds of years old all at ones. So, yeah, I guess that makes me dangerous.” There was more silence for awhile. “You guys are taking it better than I thought you would.”

“I guess we’re still processing what all of that means.” Steve answered honestly.

Stiles suddenly sneered as he advanced, pressing his palms flat against the table between them. “It means we’re not compatible. It means I’m not your actual soulmate. I’m the bastardization of what your soulmate would have been if he hadn’t killed himself a decade ago. You should leave after Deucalion deals with your prisoners.” He took the papers and turned away, headed towards the door.

“I think we’d like to be the judge of that ourselves!” Bucky spoke up.

Stiles stood still for a moment, looking back just out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever.” He shrugged after seeming to think about it before he started moving towards the door again. “I’ve got class. Tell Malia this is her only sick day for the month. And Peter thanks for proofing my essay.” He scooped up a backpack they hadn’t noticed by the door.

Bucky was sure he was just going to walk away again, but at the last moment, when Stiles was out the door but before he’d gotten it closed, he looked back. “Later, I guess.” But the door slammed before they could say goodbye back.

Steve sat back in the chair with a heavy sigh. “Fox demon?”

Bucky knocked his shoulder with his own. “Can’t be worse than a Winter Soldier.” It didn’t come out as light as he would have liked, but it was said jokingly nonetheless.

Steve gave a snort out his nose before pulling the laptop a little closer to go back to studying the live feed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long with so little! I'm trying, I promise! Sorry if there are any mistakes. I posted this immediately after writing it.


	5. Some soul-searching. Some texting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is freaking out. And Peter proves he can be nice sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to know where this was going. Welcome aboard to idek anymore.

Stiles couldn’t help checking his phone every five minutes in class. He kept expecting Peter to message. Rationally, he expected something about how the Avengers just took off with the HYDRA assholes to interrogate them about the weird little town they’ve found themselves in. His hyperactive brain was already putting a plan together about how to relocate everyone. Because faced with a vague and shadowy government organization, evacuation was the only option. 

The other part of his mind was still screaming at him. God, he was so stupid. ‘Hi, I’m your soulmate. But because I sacrificed myself to a giant tree stump when I was a teenager I’m never going to age and also I have a 900 year old demon in my head. Sometimes. Probably most of the time but I can’t tell the difference anymore.’ That’s the perfect way to introduce oneself /after/ killing a man in cold blood to a /superhero/ soulmate that radiated morals from his pores like Derek Hale’s aura radiated man-pain. What was fate even thinking? How could this relationship ever work? And why had Bucky been so damn nice to him?

He could understand Steve, maybe. Righteous and a little clueless. He reminded Stiles of Scott. And Stiles could dig that. He’s always stood up for Scott and his morals. Scott has always been his compass. WWSD and all that jazz. Because Stiles learned really damn quick that his brand of morality was ‘Could it hurt my family? Kill it, kill it with fire.’ And he couldn’t even blame that on the nogitsune, just look at what he’d done to a PTSD-riddled burn victim. So maybe that part’s always been there. And maybe that’s why fate gave him a man like Steve Rogers. He needs a compass, and Scott isn’t going to be around forever. 

But James “Bucky” Buchanan? Bucky is going to be the end of him. Because Bucky looks at him like he /knows/, and he doesn’t care. Like he can see that part of Stiles, that part of the nogitsune, that fought on both sides of wars indiscriminately just to feel blood on his hands. The part that is so damn loyal that he’ll kill 10 men in cold blood, and so damn demented that he’ll enjoy it. Until the next morning, anyways. 

It’s not fair. Because everything he knows about the Winter Solider says that he killed, but he didn’t have a choice. He was a living, breathing robot before Steve woke from the ice and tore up the world looking for him. Stiles? Since he’s kicked out the nogitsune, Stiles has always had a choice. And most times he chooses the most permanent solution. Because it makes sense or is the easiest way to protect what’s his, yeah. But also because that teeny, tiny, /giant/ part of him needs it. He needs it so he can go to class and watch his phone like a twenty-something-year-old waiting for the news of his soulmate without the whispers or memories of that time the he, the nogistune, killed that one—

Professor Adeer asks him a question haughtily, noticing his phone and his inattention. Stiles throws out an answer, not even caring when the professor corrects him for giving the wrong one. After having friends, people (Because let’s be honest, Stiles didn’t know Boyd and Erica well enough to call them friends) die because you didn’t have the right answer, someone attempting to humiliate you because of one during class just doesn’t have the same sting.

His phone lights up. Message from Malia: Y shld of taken the day off 2. Yr mates stink of distress. They r hotties, tho. Good job. 

Stiles ignored the last bit. It was easier to ignore most of what Malia came up with.

S: Use today to finish your homework and get a jump-start on that project. Peter isn’t needling them is he?

Peter messaged him next. Malia probably showed him her texts, because his started: Peter just showed them some of your baby pictures. Because someone should have the pleasure.

And didn’t that slam into Stiles like a bus. He’d pretty much forgotten about the albums on the cluttered shelves in the living room. Easily-accessible for anyone willing to snoop. His mom had been meticulous about documenting his growth so there were eight. One for each year before she died. And of course Peter would throw that out there like it was nothing. 

S: Asshole. 

S: They saw all that and they haven’t left yet?

P: Shocking, I know. It’s like they want to get to know their soulmate before they start making decisions. 

S: They think we’re in a relationship. 

P: Correcting them seemed to slip your mind while you came out and told them the rest. Yes, they cornered me and asked some questions. Really, Stiles? Haven’t we talked about how to avoid the age question? 

S: It’s not like they thought I was normal anyways. Fucked that up before introductions were even made. What questions?

P: The usual. How you got involved, how are we involved, what’s a Nemeton, how do they stop it. 

S: And?

P: I’d never spill a secret darling, no matter how quickly you spill yours. What do you want me to tell them?

Stiles stared at his screen. The class full of people hardly mattered. Just background noise, honestly. 

S: The truth. Whatever they ask. Just them two. 

P: Is that wise?

S: Do it, Peter. What’s the worst that can happen? They’re smart. They’ll just leave. 

P: You actually want them to stay? 

S: idk what I want.

Peter might be an asshole. But he knew when to stop pushing. Heightened preservation instinct. 

P: Deuc will be here by tonight. Apparently, he was in Denver. Practically our back yard. 

S: Denver is 16 hr away. There are at least 12 packs closer to us. 

P: Weren’t you the one that wanted to kill him instead of letting him leave?

S: I want to kill everyone. That’s no reason to be getting paranoid. 

S: Shit. Sry. I don’t. I swear I don’t.

P: Nothing to forgive, darling boy. Stress and unfulfilled adrenaline. Besides, it’s just me. 

P: I just told them we’re only platonic. Should have taken a picture of their faces. They’re poleaxed. Even the redhead doesn’t believe me. I’m upset they seem to think me so untrustworthy. 

S: They’ve got good instincts. 

S: Thank you, Peter. Idk what to do about them yet, but I appreciate that you’re not forcing my hand.

P: You’ve been a surprisingly good Alpha so far. Besides, two super soldiers as Alpha Mates is going to do wonders for the livelihood of this pack. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given up scheduled updates. You've been warned. And apparently I'm just going with very slow plot development. Because I'm trash at condensing.


End file.
